# forty.six

as the rain escapes from the clouds
my eyes release the same tears
the sounds of the oppressed
i can hear without thunder
lightening has burnt their pages
before they had a chance to begin
i wonder when the storm shall pass
so they can find dry pages

# forty.three

when i awake to a new day
nothing will be as it was

what it was
was not what i thought it to be
blinded by the unknowable
i find myself blank

i can only relinquish control
for the totality of being
has no end and no beginning
with willingness i must permit
creation that is calling me to have faith
in that which I cannot see
yet feel
that nothing is predestined

“it” whatever that may be
is still being written
as i leap into the void
not yet explored
i experience the sun’s first light